Combattre, vaincre ou mourir
by The Teohrer
Summary: In which Jack contemplates a few things and decides a move in his game-that he'll win, of course, he's Jack Merridew. It's a game where he'd win, and the loser would die fighting.


**Combattre, vaincre ou mourir**

**A/N: Hello! Here's a short one-shot about a scene that might have happened on the island, more or less. (LOTF is a book I'm doing for my O'Levels, but it's a nice book.) 'Combattre, Vaincre ou mourir' is French for 'Fight, overcome or die', the motto of the ****34 Canadian Brigade Group-I was looking through the list of military motto by country. Read the fic to see if you like it, and drop me a review as you see fit. Thanks, so long and thanks for the fish (and I don't****understand how this saying came****about, so if anyone cares to enlighten me about it...) **

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A maniacal grin spread over Jack Merridew's face as he splattered himself in more red paint. Bill was carefully tracing Jack's face, trailing his white finger slowly around Jack's eyes—Bill certainly did not want to get paint into the Chief's eyes. Jack gave a laugh despite himself at the sight of Bill's subservient manner.

Roger was standing as still as a statue next to them, clutching his spear tightly.

"You alright, Roger?" He called.

"Never better," the broad boy seemed to growl. Something vague and unidentifiable niggled at Jack; for a splinter of a split second his conscience awakened, for they had killed Piggy. But that feeling was forgotten as he remembered his triumph and Ralph's sudden desperation and franticness.

Ralph, the boy who ran. Ralph who didn't fight. Ralph who didn't hunt. Ralph who was no longer chief, _never was a chief_.

Anger surged through him as he remembered that Ralph had come with spears. Spears! To think that the weakling thought he could challenge him, The Chief! How dare he? Jack growled lowly and watched in satisfaction as Bill hastily completed applying Jack's face paint and scampered off, intimidated by Jack's display of irritation.

"You know what, Roger? You did good ridding that fat arse Piggy. Let's see how long Ralph lasts now. How was he ever chief? Every single one of the other biguns were completely bonkers, weren't they? I suspect that it was the plane crash that addled their minds…"

_A plane crash. Why were they on a plane again? That's right; they were avoiding the bombs…_ That comforted him. Somewhere, people were fighting as well, a far more vicious game than Jack was playing. Jack snorted. Why couldn't he play a game as fun as that was?

Jack thumped Roger on the back and whooped, yelling, "boom!"

Roger caught up. "Bang!"

Jack falls on the ground in mock pain. "Argh, you killed me!"

Roger's eyes glinted dangerously and his mouth opened in a feral snarl for a moment as he seemed to mouth the words 'you lost, and you would die', and Jack felt a slight trickle of fear when he saw Roger's almost murderous expression—he'd feel embarrassed for feeling that later.

However, Maurice came into sight and bowed lowly, breaking the strange and tense moment between Roger and the Chief. Maurice shifted a little at his spot as Jack got up from the ground and returned to his throne.

"Speak," he commands with all the sternness and gravitas a proper chief should have.

"My Chief, Samneric refuse to divulge anything... Perhaps if you allow us to use any other method…" Maurice's words were nearly a mumble, and that infuriated Jack.

Jack leapt to his feet. "Incompetent fools! Roger, punish Maurice as you deem fit, and then go sharpen your stick—be ready to march! I will personally deal with those bumbling excuses of humans…"

"You're great, my Chief," Maurice said quickly before Jack waved him off.

Jack clenched his fist. Where did those cowardly twins gain the capacity to resist? He snarled, and this time there wasn't anyone too near for him to scare, and that annoys Jack further. He'd have to punish those uncooperative twins, as well as those gormless cock-ups who didn't do their jobs properly later. But first, he'd do anything to get the bloody plonkers to cooperate.

Cooperation, didn't he agree to work with Ralph once? He remembered Ralph, a glorious golden image before him, tall and built like a boxer—a boy who looked like he threw good punches. Ralph had been pretty nice about things too, hadn't he?

(Did he not offer you your hunters, huh? He gave you your hunters even though you weren't Chief! You two had fun, didn't you? You played in the sun and swam in the lagoon, you climbed a mountain and saw the creepers for the first time together, with that little barmy moron Simon! The two of you had fun together!)

Again, something told him that he was doing something drastically terrible and that he'd live to regret it.

(But those hunters were yours to begin with anyway. The Choir was always yours. Simon and Ralph were inconsequential. But Ralph's more like a thorn in your side, isn't he? He appears out of nowhere and rains a torrent of insults upon you, the oh-great-leader! Even during Ralph's faux tenure as Chief, you two didn't get along. He didn't want to have fun, he wanted to build shelters and establish _more_rules, what sort of chief was that? And why would you even want rules when the adults weren't around? Unsupervised Playtime had always been the best timeslot in your school day, right?)

And once again, he ignored the thoughts that would've stemmed from something called a conscience, but he has long forgotten the existence of that. Any reservations he had, he chalked it up to nerves. What if he lost in the game?

(You wouldn't lose, would you? You're the fearless Jack Merridew. You're the smart one, the one that stopped the Beast from attacking your lot by sacrificing the head from the hunt. The Lord of the Flies _did_ placate your Beast, didn't it? You overcame the Beast, you became the Chief, you got rid of the useless Ralph! Then it was a worthy sacrifice!)

Jack pushed the thoughts away and told himself to get focused on the task on hand. First, swindle information out of Samneric. Next, engage Ralph in his final showdown. If Ralph fought and emerged from the battle victorious, he might be merciful upon the boy and let him live out his existence as a slave.

Jack's red head emerged from the shadows and made Samneric begin to shake in fear. The twins were already beaten up, but they huddled together and Jack's eyes narrowed. They kept the twins together? That was the stupidest tactic of torture and interrogation he had ever witnessed. Ignominious fools. He'll make every single one of the boys quake in fear when he was through with this.

He relished the terror on Samneric's faces, their wide eyes staring at his face, never meeting his eyes. The white paint made them hug each other more tightly, though.

"Pull them apart." The other biguns obeyed and pulled the twins apart. They resisted, their hands desperately trying to clasp each other's for comfort, support, whatever, as Robert and one of the other biguns Jack couldn't name tugged and dragged the two away from each other.

"The time for _your_ fight is over." He pointed a bony finger caked in dried blood at Eric. "Where is Ralph?"

"I don't know!"

"Please don't—"

"We didn't do anything—"

"Nothing wrong!"

"Robert, point a spear at Sam. He will die if little Eric doesn't answer."

Jack's mouth was set in a grim line as Eric began crying in earnest, squealing out Ralph's hiding spot between his choked sobs. Jack recognised the sheer agony on Eric's face but he doesn't really care. Pawns could be sacrificed.

"Tie them up, for now. We've got work to do."

Jack would hunt Ralph down. He would win, and Ralph would die when he loses. Jack envisioned the manner Ralph would scream when the sharp stick finally plunged into his supine form, severing his heart for all it was worth, and a pleased smile lit his face up at the thought of his prize. Just like how it was to win prizes in a game of Bridge. Just the same thing. High stakes, huge gains. Just another game for Jack to win.


End file.
